


Black Sails

by OneofWebs



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Aziraphale is a Nun (Good Omens), Blasphemy, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), F/M, Female Aziraphale (Good Omens), First Kiss, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Loss of Virginity, Nipple Play, Nuns, Rimming, Running Away, Spanking, Stars, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Undressing, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Virginity, Virginity Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-05 00:34:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20480045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneofWebs/pseuds/OneofWebs
Summary: Aziraphale has been a nun all her life, never given a choice to what path she might take. It's always led her down a path of curiosity, and one night, her curiosity is rewarded when she meets a sailor in the tavern. Captain Anthony J. Crowley is an interesting man with silly things to say and a sharp eye; she can't help but fall in with him. Even if that means breaking her vows along the way.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tickety-boo (mutalune)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mutalune/gifts).

> I WROTE A GODDAMN NUN FIC AND I BLAME TICKETY that's all I really have to say.
> 
> I'm on a female!Aziraphale run. There's not enough love for female presenting Aziraphale, let alone female Aziraphale. I'm just gonna provide the content myself, because if I don't see Aziraphale in the biggest, prettiest dresses ever made, I'm gonna have a stroke. I hope everyone enjoys this, because I did.

Aziraphale’s life had been predetermined from the moment she was born. She’d been born on a Sunday, of all days, at promptly three in the afternoon. After what had been seven days of tortuously attempting to figure out what was real labor and what was just more pain than any one woman should have to deal with, the rest had been rather easy. Aziraphale’s mother slept for hours before waking up to hold the babe, and that was the end. She was name after some obscure religious figure the family believed they’d once been related to, and she was to be shipped off to a convent the second she was old enough. That’s just what the family did. They served the church.

For all intents and purposes, Aziraphale grew up in the convent. She lived and breathed their teachings, their knowledge, and she truly once and all believed in her cause. Belief was the only path available for her to take. She’d only ever known the convent and her home, nothing beyond. She’d never ventured into town, not until well after she’d well and kindly taken her vows. It would keep her pure and stout in the wake of the rabble in town, even when she walked in casual clothes. The dress was nothing. Aziraphale would be a true nun, regardless of the outfit she wore. As long as her fellow sisters never saw the outfits, anyway.

She’d been sneaking down from the convent every Friday night, could she manage, since she had turned eighteen. Now, three years later, her skirts had gotten shorter, and her collars had gotten deeper. Nobody seemed to notice, but nobody in town knew she was a nun. As long as she kept her outings secret from the Revered Mother, she would be free to continue as long as she pleased. She would please for quite a time, she thought. The town was always so alight with laughter and children playing. Families together and couples walking side by side along the cobblestone path. Which, just farther away, led to the docks and the beach below. Aziraphale loved the water more than anything.

But even more than the water, she loved what it meant. She loved the idea that it might lead somewhere to a place she’d never known, that she couldn’t even dream of. All she knew was this rocky hill with sparse and ugly trees and the town. It was all she’d ever known. Her family lived in the largest house just between the convent and the town, and she stopped there from time to time. It was nearly always empty; just as she recalled it. Her family never stayed long, each of them out to do their own thing in service to the Lord. Frankly, she wished they would rest. The town though. The town was _full_ of life and love and Aziraphale dreamed of it often. She longed to walk among the people and mourned the choice she’d never gotten to make. Her life was fine, well enough. She prayed, she believed, and she kept to her vows. Even in town.

Every now and again, she tempted herself. There were nicer parts of town, there was the dock, and then there was the part of town by the dock. She tended to ignore that part of the town. That’s where the drunkards roamed, the sailors stopping in to restock and resupply their ships. It was a dangerous place for the town women, who knew better how to handle themselves. It was an even more dangerous place for Aziraphale, who didn’t know much about anything if it wasn’t directly tied to a bible. A threat of violence wasn’t enough to keep her away. Not on this night. Not when it was just a bit chilly, and the full moon was hanging out over the waters. Just in the distance, Aziraphale could see the lighthouse pulling full steam ahead for ships that would land in the night. They were expecting one soon—she could see it on the horizon.

Aziraphale stepped into the tavern and fell off into the corner, away from the crowd. It wasn’t that she didn’t like to dance, and she did, it was just that she tended to come here to watch, instead. She wasn’t very good at dancing, though she enjoyed to twirl around and laugh. No dancing, though. Not tonight. Just as unfortunate was her lack of money. Whatever money she could manage to save, meager as it was anyway, she would spend on a dress or supplies to alter one she had. Besides, the tavern didn’t require money just to find a table and sit. She could enjoy herself without a so much as a copper. There was always one table in the far corner with an uneven leg and only one stool that was empty. It’s where she tended to sit, just far enough away that she could watch the dancing and the merriment, the drinking.

Maybe it could be considered some type of sin, the enjoyment she got out of this. People watching, she called it. She would return Saturday morning, just before the light of the sun peaked over the hill, and she would pray for forgiveness before crawling into bed for an hour or two, depending on which prayer she prayed. She would pray something short tonight, to make up for the envy in her heart as she watched a young man twirl a girl on his arm. It was just a choice she’d never gotten to make, and there wasn’t room for regret. She didn’t know what it was like, any of it. Not the touch of a man’s hand, a kiss. Not the taste of wine or anything in excess. Though she ate a meager nun’s diet, she seemed to hold onto it better than any other, which left her rather plump for her height.

She was just the right sort of weight that she had meat on her hips, in the round of her stomach, and her breasts hung heavy. It made her _desirable_, she’d been told. By men in the town who’d sought to learn where she’d come from and just why she was around so sparingly. She would never share, though. It was a great sin to admit the sin she was already committing, even if she might pray extra-long in forgiveness for lying. The lying only added to her mystery, which made it harder to refuse the gazes of men she didn’t know. So far, she had been strong. The Lord was still with her on these visits; he had not abandoned her yet. He had stayed with her and given her the strength not to fall to dark eyes or styled hair.

Tonight would be a challenge, and she knew it from the moment the door swung open. He was a sailor; she could tell from his garb. But he was a sailor that she had never seen in town before, and she had seen them all. He looked something fancy, too, with the coat over his shoulders. Like he wasn’t just in town to pick up shipments, but like he was passing through on his way to a better place. A fancier place. Like he might even be headed straight for the mainland where the cities were, and Aziraphale wouldn’t have to be stuck up in this tiny little town anymore—what was she thinking, though? She rested her head down in her arms and just sighed. What a fool’s fantasy that was, to look at the fanciest sailor man she’d ever seen walk into a tavern and _dream_ of how he’d take her away.

He certainly wouldn’t. He had no business to look at her. He had no business to look at anyone, and it was like the room parted for him as he made his way to the bar and sat down. Aziraphale could see him better from this angle, his dark red hair tight in a loose ponytail at the base of his neck and the glasses perched on his nose. They were glasses unlike anything Aziraphale had ever seen, with a dark red tint to the glass. They clearly weren’t meant to help with seeing, but _fashion_ wasn’t something often found in a small town like this. Not something she was too terribly familiar with. Whomever the sailor was, Aziraphale painted him _rich._

Aziraphale couldn’t help herself. She watched, rather taken with him as he ordered drinks. He ordered _rounds_ for people, laughed and drank with them in the merriment. Halfway through the night, he stood up on one of the tables and stomped along to the song with one of the tavern girls. She looked _happy._ Aziraphale didn’t know her name, but how she wished that they were the same for the night. That this sailor captain might take her by the waist and spin her around, hold her close and kiss her ear.

She jolted, all of the sudden. _That_ was a thought far too impure for her to be thinking. Envy was one thing. She could be jealous of the tavern girl all she wanted. She could wish to be on that table dancing with the sailor captain _all_ she wanted. Lust was where she drew the line. She would not have his hands on her. She would have no man’s hands on her. Her vows were still true, and she believed them stoutly. Time at the tavern was coming to an end, she knew. She had to get out of there before she let her thoughts wander too far and too deep for her strength.

“Lord, preserve me,” she whispered as she left. All while wondering just how long the sailor would be in town. Did she have days to meet him? Weeks? Months? There was never any good way to tell, not without asking. And he was one she’d never seen before. She wouldn’t—she couldn’t. It would be entirely improper of her to speak to him.

Improper to speak to him, but she did dream of him. When she returned to the convent and knelt by her bed, her prayers were interrupted by thoughts of him. His hair was a color she’d never seen before, and his skin ever tan. He had such a look about him, like a man who’d been at sea for too long. When he talked, his words slurred together, and his legs were built for swaying of a ship. Not for land, but surely, he’d stopped for a reason. Maybe he would stay. He shouldn’t—Aziraphale shouldn’t think that he should. She had vows to keep, duties to attend to. Prayers to pray. Virtue to keep. None of it had anything to do with a sailor from some far away land sleeping down at the tavern.

While she tended to the garden, poorly as she was capable of, she couldn’t help but wonder if he had stayed at the tavern. Had he a room up in the second floor to stay the night? There were inns in the town: one, to be exact. But it was expensive and on the nice part of town, the part that Aziraphale liked more. Many of the sailors just stayed at the tavern; the owner had a few rooms to rent from time to time. That captain could have paid enough to kick someone out of the room, if he’d so wanted to. Aziraphale liked to imagine he wasn’t so cruel, though—as if she’d even known his name.

If he’d stayed at the tavern, and this she thought of while checking the tomatoes for their ripeness, had he shared his room? That tavern girl had been so pretty with her dark hair all tied up in braids. She’d been skinny, but her face was just ever lightly dusted with makeup and the dull light of the lanterns. Aziraphale wouldn’t have blamed the captain for taking her to bed. She wasn’t jealous, of course. She was envious. If only she’d had the courage to meet the captain, maybe he would have asked her to bed. Oh, but she would have refused. She would have had to. Her relationship was with the Lord, and there could be no one else in her life. Those were the vows she took, and she believed them.

Though, what a way, she thought. She’d never been with a man. And she’d _certainly_ never been with a woman, even if she had thought about it too. She’d never even so much as ventured a curious hand below her waist. This captain, oh, and if he would take her, would have to teach her. He’d been the _first_; just thinking about it, Aziraphale’s face had turned red. An overwhelming feeling of _claim_ rushed over her and sparked a fire in the pit of her belly that she didn’t quite understand.

It stayed with her through the day, with her thoughts of the sailor tucked neatly at the back of her mind. She thought of how he might lay her down and touch her. Would he be gentle? Or would he be rough with her? Would he flip her to her stomach and take his pleasure of her before leaving her there? He _was_ a sailor. But Aziraphale found she liked the alternative. Where he was slow and asked how she felt. Where they stared into each other’s eyes while he pressed inside her. What horrid thoughts she had. Lust. That was the feeling in her stomach that left her feeling a bit wet when she walked. It was lust. She was letting herself be tempted by a man she didn’t even know, and what a terrible thing to do.

She would pray. She would pray for the remainder of the day and beg forgiveness. She would go right to sleep and dream no more of the sailor. If this didn’t work, she would go to the Revered Mother and confess; she would ask for help.

None of that happened. Aziraphale dressed in one of her shorter dresses and left the convent just after the last nun had retired to her chamber. Just like she had done the previous night, but she was making an exception this time. Long ago, she had promised herself once a week. Friday night. That was all she was allowed, and she would pray heavily for forgiveness. Something was calling her out, though, Saturday night. She pushed through the old passageway to the gardens and left without a trace, down the hill. In the distance, she could see the bright shining lights of a town still awake and alive with music and merriment. This time, she even had a few coins. She would go to the tavern, and she would _eat_, just this once. Just to see what it was like to be a true town girl.

The tavern was neatly alive, as it had been the previous night. There were less people, for those who would rise in the morning for Sunday worship, but the sailor was here. Aziraphale saw him across the way, sitting at a bar with a pint in his hand and a girl at his side. Aziraphale wasn’t _here_ to be the girl at his side, though. She was here for food and drink, but that didn’t stop her from sitting promptly at the bar and hiking her skirt up just a bit more. Her entire calf was visible, and she made sure to sit in such a way that the captain might catch a glimpse of her meager offering.

She ordered rum and a simple meal of roasted meat and cheese. And she kept her eyes sorely on the plate as she ate, and certainly not on the captain beside her. Even then, she noticed the exact second he sent the other girl away and ordered another drink. If she had been paying attention, she would have even been able to count the seconds he’d been staring at her from the side of his eye. Fifty-three seconds before he turned to his drink again and ordered a plate. Thirteen seconds passed before he looked at her again, lips on the rim of his cup. Aziraphale’s face had turned a pretty pink; he must have known she could see him. That she was paying attention. That she was thinking about what it would feel like if those lips were on her—but Lord, there was no way he could know that.

Aziraphale whispered a prayer to herself and drank the last of her rum. She picked at her meal but there was a heat around her that made food all the less appetizing, and she loved food. She saved up for nights like this, where she would sin first and beg forgiveness later. The Lord was merciful, and even if Aziraphale made the same mistakes over and over, she would be forgiven. She just had to apply herself and seek help, after this. If she could work this out of her system tonight, she could go back and pray. Ask the Revered Mother for help in her penance, if she needed to. Anything to get this sailor out of her mind. Out of her eyesight. Out of her general vicinity.

He’d moved chairs to sit beside her, his plate half empty and his glass left behind. He was watching her, for certain now. Aziraphale could feel the bore of his eyes on her, and it felt a bit like the devil tempting on her shoulder. She gripped her hands together in front of her, but that didn’t seem to bother the sailor. In fact, it seemed to just bring him closer. He was _leering_, and Aziraphale could smell alcohol on him. He was surely drunk, which meant this would be dangerous. Maybe. If Aziraphale couldn’t handle herself, and he was a swine. Hopefully, her dreams would come true. She longed for him to be a gentleman.

“I saw you last night,” he slurred at her. “In the corner. You from here?”

“You could say that,” she replied, and kicked herself. She should keep to herself. She shouldn’t entertain him. She should leave, immediately. The most dangerous thing would be to let him _touch _her, and his hand was on her forearm.

“You should eat, you know. Healthy for a girl to eat.” He was so close. She couldn’t _deny_ him. That would be so incredibly rude of her. So, she took another bite. And another, under his gaze.

“Are you passing through town?” she asked. She had to know.

“Me and the crew,” he said. “You been down to the docks? I’ve got a fine vessel. Eve’s Bite. You see her?”

Aziraphale shook her head, “I don’t go to the docks often, sir.”

The sailor snorted, “That’s no good. I’m no ‘sir’, little lady.”

“Well, you haven’t very well introduced yourself, have you?” she had every right to sound indignant about it. Gentleman introduced themselves. She sourly stuffed another bite of meat into her mouth and did not watch as the man smiled at her. She did not feel it as he dragged his hand up her arm.

“Where are my manners? I apologize. Name’s Crowley. Anthony Crowley. _Captain _Anthony Crowley,” he grinned at her.

“That’s a lot of names, Captain Anthony Crowley,” and she tried not to smile back. Those were impressive names. Captain was impressive enough, but everyone who was anyone had heard of the Crowley Shipping Company. And if Anthony Crowley was the captain of a Crowley ship, well. Aziraphale tried not to be too impressed. She didn’t need Crowley thinking that she _cared._

“Most people just call me Crowley, though,” and he winked. That was surely a lie, but Aziraphale would do as he asked. “What’s your name?”

Aziraphale kept her lips tightly pressed. There was no way that he would know who she was just by a name. Nuns were quiet, they kept to themselves. None of them ever ventured down to town, but what of the chance that he would make the connection? Her name was painfully religious, and she knew that. But Crowley was staring at her with such a look that she wanted to tell him _something._

“Azira,” she said, wincing.

“Beautiful,” Crowley hissed at her. He went back to his plate, immediately, and suggested that she finish hers.

Then there was a heavy silence that Aziraphale didn’t understand. Had he really just stopped over to make acquaintance and tell her to eat? Surely, he’d had more intention than that. He had to, or her dream was shattered. It would be the same as if he’d been gone. She would have to return to the convent, pray, and confess her dirty thoughts to the Revered Mother. Aziraphale would be chastised, surely, and would never be allowed to return to town. Her dresses would be taken and used for scrap material, especially the one she wore now. It was already so short, but Aziraphale moved as subtly as she could to hike it up above the knee. Maybe Crowley would look. Maybe Crowley would take her.

Nothing happened. Aziraphale ate. Crowley finished and left the tavern. Aziraphale finished and left the tavern. Only it wasn’t nothing, because when she rounded the corner of the building, she was suddenly being yanked into the small alley between the tavern and the next building. _Crowley._ He was there in his captain’s jacket and his hat, grinning at her as he backed her into the wall. His hands fell away just as fast as he dug about in his pocket, and Aziraphale couldn’t quite gather what he was doing.

“I’ve been watching you all night,” he told her. “You must be here for a reason.”

“I—no, I’m—”

“No need to be shy,” Crowley produced a shiny gold coin. “I can pay for anything.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale realized all at once. Crowley had thought her nothing more than a common wench, and how horrible the thought was. Aziraphale gulped as she stared at the coin. This wasn’t how she would have imagined this going, but she was dressing rather light. Rather inappropriately for any sort of fine lady. She should have expected this, even if it made her stomach twist up in all sorts of ways.

Crowley’s comment made this all _her_ decision. And not just her decision, but to say yes would be to take a coin for her services. _Services! _This was double the sin in half the time, and she knew it. But she was staring at the coin. She could buy a new dress with it. She could buy _food _with it to stash in her room for when she was hungry. The temptation was hanging right in front of her, and all she could do was gulp as she reached for the coin. Crowley backed it away just far enough and grinned.

“What does it get me?” he asked.

Aziraphale swallowed the lump in her throat, “anything,” she said. She meant it.

“Oh, a cheap little thing,” Crowley snickered. But he seemed to like it. He seemed _endeared_ by it when he leaned into her and kissed her.

Aziraphale squeaked, but her back hit the wall of the tavern, and her eyes closed. She didn’t know what to do—she’d never been kissed before. Crowley just led her right into it like he didn’t notice her stiffness. Maybe he didn’t. If he did, maybe he didn’t care. Maybe he thought it was cute. Whatever he thought, he came closer and tucked the gold coin right between her breasts. Then his hands were around her neck, cupping her head and bringing her close to deepen their kiss. When Aziraphale felt _tongue_, she squeaked again. But she followed every movement Crowley made, trying to learn as they went along. Moving together. Crowley’s hands slipping down her front.

His lips followed, away from hers, and cupped around her jaw, down her neck. He found a particularly nice spot high, right near her ear, where he latched on with teeth and sucked something pretty onto her. She trembled, her knees going weak beneath her. Crowley stopped her from falling: a sudden knee between her thighs where he pressed up into her, rubbed her cunt through her skirts, and she gasped. She could have ignored it before then, the incessant heat that had spread through her, the wetness—but now he was using it against her. She could feel how soiled she was, and her hips seemed to have their own ideas as they rutted along Crowley’s thigh. He appreciated it. He appreciated it so much that he groaned into her skin and dipped his lips farther down, to her exposed collarbone.

Crowley sucked at the skin, tugged where it was loose enough between his teeth. His hands had finally found her breasts; he cupped one in each hand and squeezed, massaged, until he could feel her nipples pert through the fabric of her dress. Those, he brushed his thumbs over to hear Aziraphale keen with unfamiliar touch. She’d never—no one had _ever_ touched her like this. Lord preserve her, she wanted more. She wanted this sea captain to do anything he wanted to her, and it looked sorely like he was going to when a hand dipped down to fumble with her skirts. Trying to find the hem and yank them up so he could get a hand beneath and touch along the smoothness of her thigh.

Another prayer escaped Aziraphale’s lips as she leaned her head back into the wall. Her skin was alight with _new_ and beautiful touches. Crowley was everywhere, all at once, with his kisses and the way his _tongue_ dipped into her cleavage. His hand was working higher, too, in pleasant ghosts along her skin until she felt it on her hip. This was _wrong_, she told herself. It was wrong to feel so good for something so heinous. She didn’t know Crowley. They certainly weren’t wed, and even on the chance—she was promised to the Lord. She’d taken her vows. She’d _swore_ this away—she was to remain pure her whole life, a life dedicated to worship and to study. Oh, but Crowley’s lips felt like worship as they brushed over the soft skin of her neck again. Up to her jaw until they were kissing again; this time, Aziraphale had a better idea of what to do. She even pressed back against him, until suddenly she wasn’t.

Suddenly, she was scrambling away from Crowley’s touch. His hand had ghosted between her thighs, and she’d come quite quick her to senses. This was wrong. She couldn’t. She’d already defied the Lord in so many ways, to take it one step farther that she’d actually allow a man to have her in an alley way? Crowley thought she was a _whore._ The tears were already welling up in her eyes before she’d managed to work her skirts back down, properly. To where they rested just to her ankle, and she didn’t stick around long enough to notice the way realization slapped Crowley all at once.

“Rough,” another man commented. Just passing through.

“Shut the hell up,” Crowley replied.

Aziraphale ran straight back to convent without looking back. She didn’t stop until she had closed up the gate through the garden and was in her room, where she promptly threw herself into bed to _cry. _She’d been such a fool. She’d let herself be tempted, and she’d gone and done something so _stupid_ as let a man believe she was nothing more than a prostitute. Her cheeks were red with shame at the idea, and there was surely nothing that could be done to forgive her for this. She’d let it happen. What’s worst—she _wanted_ it to happen. She wanted Crowley to touch her there and make her feel things she’d never felt before. What a cruel, cruel thing to have done to herself. It was something she couldn’t have.

Maybe it wasn’t fair, but she was in no position to question the Lord. If the Lord hadn’t wanted her to stay away from such things, He wouldn’t have put this into His plan. There was a reason that she had been promised before she’d even been old enough to talk. She had to believe that; anything else made this whole situation within her control, and she knew she wasn’t strong enough to make the right decisions. Crowley was everything she would have dreamed about as a child, and he looked _strong._ If she’d waited there long enough, maybe he would have hoisted her up the wall—no. She had to stop. She had to pray. Somehow, the Lord would free her from these thoughts, and everything would be alright.

It wasn’t alright. In the morning, when Aziraphale woke, she found the coin again. It had left quite the uncomfortable crease in its wake, but it didn’t matter. The weight of it was heavy in her hands like a reminder of what she’d done, yet it was the prettiest thing she’d ever laid eyes on. Sunlight just seemed to dance around the edges, over the gilded designs. The bumps and the ridges. Aziraphale could have stared at it all day, if not for the pounding at her door. She was late.

In her dresser she tucked the coin, and she changed faster than she ever had before. She still had duties to attend to, duties that she was promised to just as much as she was promised to everything else. If only her duties and promises were enough. She could have promised the whole world to the Lord and only been able to deliver half. She had barely promised herself and couldn’t even deliver on that. Her mind was full of him, of Crowley, as she worked. If she could just do away with these thoughts, she could return to normal. Surely, if the Lord was kind, He would forgive her in her folly. She was weak. She couldn’t stand up to her own temptations; if only she’d never gone to town.

She promised herself. One more night. She had to do the right thing and return the coin, after all. Maybe explain what had happened. If she only explained, perhaps they could talk, and Crowley would understand. Certainly, he would, and that would fix everything. Crowley wouldn’t pursue her if she came to town again, after she explained. Nobody wanted to be the one who broke a nun’s vows, after all. That’s what she told herself, anyway, because it was a better excuse for leaving for town on the third night in a row than the one sitting at the back of her head. That she wanted to see Crowley again. Wanted to test herself to see how far they would go. That would spell more sin, though, so she put on a conservative dress and said she was going to return the coin and straighten things out.

When she got to the tavern, she wasn’t surprised to see what she found. Crowley, in the same seat he’d been at the past two nights, and that same girl sitting near him. What surprised her was the following seconds where her eyes met Crowley’s, and he made no show of subtly when he shooed the girl off. There wasn’t a second after that where Aziraphale had to doubt his intentions, because he was crossing the floor to meet her halfway, and they were off to the side near the table with the uneven leg. Crowley looked like he wanted to say the world but wasn’t sure what word to start on, so Aziraphale just held up the coin between them. It stunned him enough that he shut his mouth and stared at him.

“I believe this belongs to you, Captain,” she muttered.

Crowley stared at the coin for a long, hard moment before he took it back. He looked at it longer, then, in his hand, before setting it on the table and shaking his head. “I think I’m the one who needs to apologize. I didn’t—”

“I don’t think I denied it, either,” Aziraphale laughed. “It’s quite alright.”

“Should we start again, perhaps?” Crowley offered his hand. Aziraphale took it, quite expecting a strange handshake—which wasn’t common. Not so much between people like themselves; though, Crowley was no longer striking her a proper gentleman, and she was far from a proper lady. What he did, instead, was kiss the very top of her knuckles and let her go immediately. “Captain Anthony J. Crowley,” he said, “and it’s a pleasure.”

Aziraphale blinked, took a deep breath, and smiled. “Sister Aziraphale,” she said.

Crowley’s eyes sort of widened in a way that said he hadn’t been expecting that in the least, but he cleared his throat and nodded. “Well, Sister. I uh—apologize for all that then. I didn’t think nuns got out much.”

“We don’t,” Aziraphale sat down at the table. “I’m not supposed to be here,” because she still wanted this to go somewhere. She just. Needed Crowley to take her there. She couldn’t take him.

Crowley clearly could see that, because he kicked over a stool and sat down with her. “And what is so bad about the church that has an angel like you coming all the way down to mingle with us common folk?”

“Oh, it’s nothing so awful about the convent. Plenty of lovely people,” she said, circling her finger on the dark wood. “I’ve lived there since I was a child. You could say I was curious.”

“Curiosity never did anything good for anyone,” he told her. He made a pointed glance before rolling her the coin, and she caught it in her fingers. She looked at it, and by the time she’d looked back, Crowley was glancing somewhere else.

“Perhaps not,” she replied, rolling it back. “But I pray every night.”

Crowley snorted, “such a good nun you must be. I suppose it is better to do now and ask forgiveness later. The question is just what you’re looking to _do_,” to which he rolled the coin back. It bounced off her knuckles and fell to the table, flat. This was nothing how she had imagined the conversation would go. The flow of it had changed so quickly, too quickly for her, but she went along with it anyway.

“I, well—I never,” she had the audacity to look offended, but Crowley just grinned wider. “Quite rude of you to assume.”

“I don’t have to assume, angel,” he said, and she stared. “I got all the evidence I needed last night. Though, I suppose you did run off.

“Yes, well—”

“There are other ways, you know,” he said. “If that particular fashion is sworn off. I don’t know what you nuns do up there.”

“Well! I’ll—that is not very polite conversation,” Aziraphale was trying to look anywhere but him. Crowley, who reached across the table to grab the coin and accidentally brushed her knuckles, was winning this. She just had to put up enough of a fight.

“It’s a tavern, angel. No one here is very polite,” he nodded off in the corner. Aziraphale followed and immediately flushed a deep red, looked away, and covered her mouth. In the corner there had most definitely been a man with one of the tavern girls in his lap, and it was obvious after that. Even if her skirts covered most of it.

“Yes, well I—”

“You came to this tavern, surely you knew what you’d find here. If you haven’t found it yet, I’d be quite happy to show you.”

Aziraphale gulped. “Show me…?” She was still caught up on ‘angel’. He kept calling her that. It wasn’t making this any easier.

“Pleasures of the flesh,” he hissed the whole way through. “There are plenty of ways to feel good without sacrificing your innocence,” and he was already standing. “Unless, you don’t believe me?”

Aziraphale couldn’t form a sentence after that. She looked at Crowley, between him and the door. All she had to do was leave, but Lord preserve her, he was spinning that gold coin in his hands and leering down on her like he’d been planning this for the second he saw her again. He’d been such a gentleman on top of it. Apologizing, kissing her hand, properly introducing himself. Even now, he was giving her a _choice_. He wasn’t grabbing her by the arm and forcing against the wall. By the look on his face, she quite assumed he didn’t mean to do it in the hall, at all, whatever he had on his mind. He was holding his hand out for her, like he would _take her _somewhere. Anywhere. Away from here.

Surely, the Lord wouldn’t want her to refuse the hospitality of someone. She would think that would be rather rude, perhaps even cruel. Crowley looked so intent on taking her someplace and showing her all the wonders of the world she’d missed out. Curiosity had never done anything good, for anyone, he’d said. But she wasn’t just anyone. She was Sister Aziraphale, and she’d admitted to it. Crowley was looking at her just the same, a look that set fire in her stomach and made her feel that wet feeling again. She was. Curious. Lord help her, she took his hand.

Crowley did indeed take Aziraphale somewhere; he took her up the stairs in the back and down the hall. They passed three doors before they stopped at one, and Crowley had the key to it. After the brief second it took him to unlock it, Aziraphale followed him inside. Fine motor skills meant he hadn’t had anything to drink. He’d just been waiting for her return and wanted to be perfectly sober for it. Something about that excited her. Something about it kept her from feeling nervous when Crowley closed the door, and she heard the click of a lock. They were both here, now, steps apart. Aziraphale waited for Crowley to cross farther into the room, watched as he shrugged off his jacket and tossed it into a chair. Crowley sat on the bed. Aziraphale stood there, wringing her hands together. After a moment, watching Crowley toe off his own shoes, she followed suit.

“You can sit, if you like,” Crowley said, patting the bed beside him. Aziraphale sat down in just the spot, though she kept to herself. They were close enough that, had she relaxed, their thighs would brush together. Crowley closed the distance for her, pressing them together from hip to knee and draping his arm around her shoulders.

“So, Sister Angel—”

“Aziraphale.”

“—what exactly have you sworn off in your nunly duties?”

“I—well, all of it,” Aziraphale said, burying her hands in her dress. “There’s the vow of poverty, the vow of obedience, and—”

“The last one, angel, that’s all I care about,” he mumbled. “The vow of _chastity._ Yes, I know a few things.” He clearly did know a few things. His hand had slipped down around her lower back, massaging into the meat her hip and keeping her close.

“We—we aren’t supposed to partake in _any_ sexual activity, and I—” she covered her face with her hands.

“And here you are, in some strange man’s bed,” he laughed at it. Not at her, no, because he was nosing along her cheek to press a gentle kiss just at the crest of her bone. “Thinking about it,” he said. “You think about it constantly, don’t you?”

Aziraphale nodded, her eyes closed shut. She tried not to feel it as Crowley pulled her skirts up over her knees.

“Your God is merciful, isn’t He? Surely, he won’t blame you for just trying it _once_. Besides,” his hand had ghosted over her thigh, now, “this will be different. You’ll still be a virgin after this,” which he whispered, right into her ear. She shuddered.

“Surely,” she replied. “But the other nuns—if they find out—”

Crowley shushed her, then tilted her head ever so that their lips would brush together. Not enough to kiss yet, though, because Aziraphale hadn’t _agreed_ to anything yet. She was still fretting, fighting with her faith and morality and _vows._ She had her time to fret about it; she had time to think. Crowley was doing nothing but brushing the back of his knuckles over the white skin of her thighs. Nothing more, and nothing else.

“I suppose,” she swallowed, “they don’t have to find out. I can—well, I can keep this a secret.”

“Yes, you can, angel. Our little secret,” and they kissed.

Crowley kissed like it was the last kiss he’d ever have, and Aziraphale responded like it was the first. She didn’t know what to do, how to move herself, only that Crowley had her flat on her back a moment later. He was incessant, moving his lips until he’d coaxed hers apart. His tongue tasted sorely of the sea, and Aziraphale gripped her hands into his shirt to ground herself. He’d thrown his legs across her hips, sitting on her while they kissed. His hands roamed about her waist, and she made a pretty breathy noise into his mouth when he squeezed at her flesh.

They finally broke apart as Aziraphale gasped; Crowley was rutting his hips against her, and she could _feel_ everything she’d never seen. Oh, and it was hard and pressing. Curiosity burned in the pit of her stomach, and when Crowley sat up straight, she couldn’t help but look. Clearly defined in the fabric of his trousers, she could see his cock. Hard. Leaking. Aching _for her._ It sent a shiver down her spine, but she looked up at Crowley instead. Lingering too long was _dangerous_. He was smiling with it, danger, a daring lick across his bottom lip before leaning back over her and kissing her once, twice, before dipping along her neck instead.

He wasted no time after that, moving away from her and yanking her back to her feet. She hadn’t a second to respond before Crowley had turned her around to undo the ties of her dress. Every movement was a slow and precise one, pulling at the laces so she could feel his fingernails against the exposed skin of her back. Each light little touch sent a fire through her again. And again. Until Crowley was pulling her back into his chest and dancing around the front of her dress. Another question, although silent, was presented to her there. Her last chance to back out. Though her laces were undone, her dress was still on. She was covered for as long as she would have it that way. Every choice he left her made this harder and harder, but she gulped and traced the collar of her dress with him. Like she was considering it, and he would go no further until she’d considered it fully.

The Lord would surely forgive her for this. She would pray, do proper penance, and close her eyes while she tugged the dress away from herself. Crowley did the rest, sliding it down her shoulders and chasing every new inch of skin with his hands, his lips. He kissed across her shoulder, his hands along her arms, while the only sound between them was her dress crumpling to the floor. Just like that, she was naked, and the cold air was not kind to her. She had tried to fold her arms, but Crowley kept them at her sides while he kissed and nipped at her neck again. His eyes were open, and he was glancing down over the front of her to see what she had to offer. And oh, she was beautiful.

The dress had done nothing for her. It had hidden every bump and roll of her body, the tight peaks of her nipples, even the size of her; Crowley couldn’t contain his groan. He let go of her arms only to feel around her middle, to grab at her skin where it rolled and massage it in his fingers. Aziraphale even deigned to think he’d been dreaming about this too for his enthusiasm. Somehow, he was still restrained. His hands hadn’t ventured too low or too high; it was like he was waiting on her to prompt him further. Lord, forgive her, she took one of Crowley’s hands in hers and laid it over her chest.

“Tell me, angel,” he said with initiative, “have you ever done this to yourself?” His hand cupped her then, taking her left tit and squeezing.

“N-no,” she whispered.

With his free hand, he took hold of hers. He pressed Aziraphale’s own hand into her breast and coaxed her along, getting her fingers to move. To press and mold and play, until she’d found her own nipple and gasped. He mimicked the movements with his left hand, brushing her other nipple and rolling it under the pads of his thumbs. With his right, he taught her how to. He moved her hand long so she would do the same, until she had rolled her head back against his shoulder and gasped; oh, she was so sensitive. Crowley kissed along her jaw, cheek, watching the way she seemed to jump at ever press. How cute she was, naked and pliant.

“Now,” he said into her ear, “can you do it?”

Aziraphale nodded, ill with her desperation to please Crowley. When he withdrew his hands, she continued in his place. She had one breast in each of her own hands, and even as she fumbled with nervousness, inexperience, she wanted to make Crowley happy with her. Proud of her, even, in how she would break every vow for him. He watched her something predatory, and she could feel that gaze. Every gasp, every moan from her lips, he heard it and reveled in it. He had pressed up against her backside, his cock evidence enough that he was enjoying this: watching her touch herself. It was sinful, she knew, but she grew a bit bolder and rolled her hips back into his, gasping as she squeezed her nipples and rolled her breasts together.

“Fuck,” he gasped into her. “Do you know what we’re going to do, angel? Do you know what I’m going to do to you?”

She whimpered, shaking her head. She could feel his hands wandering lower around her hips, digging into the space between them to grab at her arse and pull her cheeks apart. His cock seemed to nestle nicely right up between them, where the rough fabric of his trousers made her knees tremble.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promised, nudging her towards the bed again. “You’ll be so safe with me,” his whispers were rough, but he followed them with feather kisses along her cheek, her jawline. “Do you trust me?”

She was helpless but to say yes.

She fell forward onto the bed, and Crowley had her on her knees a second later. Her face was down in the bed, her ankles crossed, but her arse was up in the air where Crowley could have all the view he wanted. For a long moment, he did just stare while he worked his shirt over his head and his cock out of his trousers, but then, Aziraphale felt the bed dip behind her. Crowley’s hands were on her arse a second later, roaming over the flesh and squeezing, pulling her apart. The cold air was a rush, followed by a sudden playful slap. When Aziraphale yelped, Crowley just laughed to himself. He slapped her again, watching the way the fat of her arse jiggled and bounced. And then—then, Lord forgive her, she could have screamed.

Crowley’s tongue was hot and wet between her cheeks, where he licked a sold stripe over her hole and up to her tail bone. And he did it again. Twice more before he settled for flicking his tongue over the puckered flesh, moving his lips over it like he might _eat_ her right there, right then, and she would _thank_ him for it. She hadn’t even the strength to cry out or scream—this felt so wrong, so dirty. She knew exactly what Crowley was going to do to her now and recalled every bible passage she’d ever read about how evil this would be. It thrilled her, though. It had slick gathering up in her cunt and dripping down with the angle over her thighs, as Crowley’s tongue worked over her.

“Touch yourself, angel,” he told her, “like I taught you.”

He went back to her, then, so attentively. He moved slow, licking over her until she was dripping with his saliva. Aziraphale did just as she’d been told and grabbed her breasts. She pinched and rolled her nipples, sending more shocks straight down her spine. This was something she would have never dreamed of doing, but there it was. Crowley’s thumbs pulled her hole open so he could wedge his tongue inside, and Aziraphale saw _stars_. She cried out, hips bucking and pushing back on Crowley’s tongue. The feeling was foreign, strange, even, but she couldn’t control herself. There was a quick shuddering that took her as every nerve in her body lit up. Suddenly, she could feel everything: Crowley’s nose moving against her, the soft press of his lips, the very tip of his tongue wiggling.

Once her shaking had stopped, Crowley pulled back and tapped her arse, gently. Enough to watch it bounce before he grabbed the flesh and pulled it away so he could run his thumb over her hole. He waited for a long moment, just massaging the muscle until it was open enough that he could press inside, and there was almost no resistance. He pushed his thumb in down to the base, all the while massaging her cheek and pressing kisses into her backside.

“That,” he told her, “was an orgasm. Feel good, angel?”

Aziraphale could only whimper. She’d never orgasmed before, and she feared that she might want to do it again. It had been a full three minutes, and she could still feel the aftershocks of it. Her toes had gone numb, and her whole body was warm. Still, Crowley worked his thumb in and out of her, licking around it, kissing, until he’d pulled away all together, and the bed squeaked. In a moment of fear, Aziraphale tried to twist herself around to see him. When she did, it subsided immediately. He wasn’t _leaving._ In fact, he was rummaging through a drawer. Even in the dark, she could see his cock standing proudly against his stomach, and she had a moment to wonder what it would feel like. If she would ever get to have her hands on it—oh. What of her mouth?

Once Crowley had found what he needed, he returned to the bed. There was a slick _cold_ feeling that ran between her cheeks, and Aziraphale gripped into the bed covers. Then, Crowley’s fingers were on her again. Gathering the stuff between them and pushing inside her once more. Two fingers, this time, and they went easily. She closed her eyes tight, feeling this, listening to the noise it produced, and feeling more soiled by the second. Her thighs were sticky and wet, but her hips had not tired out. She pressed back into Crowley’s fingers without even thinking for it, and he laughed after placing a fond kiss on the small of her back.

“Patience,” he told her. “Not before you’re ready.”

“H-how do you know?” she asked, voice muffled by the covers.

“Experience,” he hissed at her, every gently and every so fond. Her face flushed a deep red, but she nodded. She tried not to think about all the girls who had been here before. Maybe the boys, too. Crowley did strike her as someone who didn’t care who he took to bed, just that there was something warm to sink into. If that was her purpose, then fine. She would enjoy every last second of it, of Crowley’s fingers deep in her arse.

Time dragged a bit after that, Crowley taking his time. He whispered to her, sweet things to keep her calm as there was more oil and a third finger. Aziraphale gasped and whimpered through it, her inexperience making this all the more intense. And Crowley was so diligent; he’d kept his promise. Aziraphale felt safe, she felt cared for. She felt _good_, Lord forgive her. She wanted what came next, when Crowley removed his fingers. There was a bit of fumbling, and then Crowley pressed his cock against her instead. When she jumped, he held tightly to her hip to keep her in place, then hushed her.

“It’ll be good, angel, I promise. Just hold still for me, can you do that?”

Aziraphale nodded, meant to speak, but her jaw fell open in her shock as Crowley started to press in. Oh—he was right, how good it felt. There was no pain, just the slick, slow slide of Crowley’s cock until his hips were pressed up against her, his hands holding her still as she tried to jolt. It was reflex, to get away, but Crowley wasn’t letting her go. He kept them pressed together, his hips rolling slowly, sweetly, until Aziraphale had stopped shaking. Her eyes were pressed closed tight, and she had stopped touching herself in favor of gripping the covers close to her face.

Crowley’s hands were a smoothing comfort, then, rubbing along her arse and over her back, down to her shoulders and back again. If she had known any better, she might have called this a lover’s touch—Crowley was so gentle with her. Even now, he hadn’t begun to move. He was just something subtle but incessant: behind her, inside of her. His hips were moving, but it was more a reminder that he was there, nothing more. He was _waiting_ for her. Waiting for her to calm down, to breathe properly, and was even helping her to it as he rubbed his fingers into her hips, her sides, anywhere he could touch.

“Are you alright?” he asked her, then, having leaned over to nearly envelop her beneath him. “Tell me if you’re ready, angel. I need to hear you say it.”

“I-I’m ready,” she replied, shakily. “Oh, Crowley, I’m—” she broke off into a high-pitched moan as Crowley pulled back.

He slammed back into her all at once, and that was how he took her. He kept a tight grip on her hips, pulling back slow and slamming home each time. The bed shook, Aziraphale shook, and all she could do was grip into the covers with her mouth open wide. Every thrust pushed the thoughts right out of her. She would be hard pressed to remember her name, let alone her prayers, her vows, and why she’d ever been against this at all. Crowley knew _exactly_ what he was doing. How to angle his hips, how to touch her. The sounds between them were obscene, the slaps and the squelches, the sound of Crowley groaning his pleasure of her.

“Crowley—Crowley,” she gasped with each thrust, his name. Her new prayer. He may as well have been her new God; if he’d asked, she would have told him anything he wanted to hear. Anything to keep him going, she would do. Even rolling her own hips back, meeting each thrust with her own in attempts to find him deeper, keep him closer. “Crowley—faster, I—I can take it. I need it.”

“Fuck,” Crowley groaned. “You need it _bad_,” he marveled.

He yanked her back until her back was flush against him, and his hips were incessant, then. He’d grabbed her tits when all she could do was hold onto him, his arms, his shoulders—anything she could reach. And she was loud. Every slap of their hips together had her shouting, moaning his name. The whole tavern would hear her, and she wouldn’t care. The Lord could be watching her right now, and she would only beg for Crowley harder, faster. Closer. To kiss her, and he obliged with a gentle hand on her jaw to guide her. He’d kept one hand on her breast, just to hold her in place, and she felt rather _possessed._ She never wanted it to end.

But it was going to have to end. Her thighs had started to shake with one particular thrust, and her whole body shuddered against him. She clenched around him, tightening impossibly, and his hips started to stutter. He pushed her back down to the bed, and held her hips tightly, to keep her still, while he worked her. In and out, fucking her like she _deserved_, before he was pulling out all at once. Aziraphale went still, sighing and gasping while Crowley came behind her, painting over her arse with come. Lord, she could hear him stroking himself as he finished. She imagined it—his hand around himself. Because of her. She shuddered, once more, and let her eyes close.

Some ten minutes had passed before she woke up again, and everything was different. She was clean, for one, not so sticky or wet, and she was wearing a shirt. It certainly didn’t belong to her, but upon one pointed glance forward, she could see Crowley sitting in a chair, shirtless, and a pipe between his lips. His legs were crossed and sitting in the crook of his knee was nothing less than a book. A lovely leather bound one with bookmark strings, much like one she had seen at the convent. She was scarcely allowed with the books though; she was not a scribe, and the last time she had a book, she’d locked herself away for days to read it.

“Crowley?” she said in a voice not quite her own. It sounded strange and hoarse, almost too quiet. He heard her, though, and looked over.

“Welcome back.” He sent her an oddly fond smile; his eyes half lidded just at the sight of her. Her hair was spread out over the bed, the pillows, draped over her shoulders in such a pretty little way. Crowley even _sighed_.

“I need to return to the convent—” Aziraphale said, but when she tried to move, she found she hadn’t tried at all. She was still laying there, her knees pulled close, and her head in the pillows.

“You need to rest,” Crowley corrected. “Just until you’ll alright to walk. I won’t stop you from leaving after that.” While he talked, he put out his pipe and closed the book. Aziraphale looked after it, but suddenly her vision was Crowley, Crowley, Crowley as he crawled into the bed beside her. He laid on top of the blankets, but close enough that he could curl her hair behind her ear and rest his hand on her neck.

“You were reading?” she asked.

“Just shipment logs, nothing impressive. I’ve got a bit of a collection of books on the ship, though.”

“Eve’s Bite,” Aziraphale repeated, and something about the fact she remembered had Crowley smiling at her. He leaned in close enough that she could feel his breath on her face, and she couldn’t help herself. She leaned into him, against his bare chest, and kissed him. He pressed back into her, and her heart swelled with the feeling. Rolling in the sheets with Crowley, literally, as he moved her to his back to drape over her and just kiss, was everything. All at once. Everything Aziraphale had been denied her whole life. Eventually, he had to pull back.

“Through your nose, angel,” he said, tapping it with his finger. “Breathe through your nose, and we can kiss forever.”

“I have to go,” Aziraphale whispered back.

“I wish you wouldn’t.” He kissed her again. This time, she breathed through her nose and wrapped her arms around his neck to hold him close. It wasn’t quite forever, but they kissed until they had to pull away.

Crowley rolled off of her, after that, and out of bed completely. He took her by the hand to help her to her feet, then stood by while she dressed. Practiced skill had her doing her own laces up her back, though she had wished Crowley would have helped. The feeling of him watching was almost too much to bear, but to have him against her? She would have traded the world for it. He kept to himself, though, until Aziraphale had turned back to meet him. Then, he took her hands.

“Return to me, if you can.” He kissed her knuckles.

“I have things to attend to, I don’t know if I can…” but she trailed off, watching the way Crowley’s brows knitted together in near pain at her statement. Maybe she wasn’t just another girl to warm his bed, though it was a dangerous thought. A chance still remained that she could have been more with the look on his face: distraught to know he may never see her again.

“I’ll in the tavern every night until we leave,” he said, letting go of her. “If you can, you’ll know where to find me.”

That sounded something akin to a promise, and it left a strange feeling in Aziraphale’s chest. She blamed it on everything else than the horror of what it might be and bid Crowley a wondrous goodnight. When she stepped out of the room, she closed the door behind her and leaned against it. Once her back hit the wood, she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. The thought of what she had done was nowhere near as monstrous as the thought of what she had to return to, and she would return to it with evidence of Crowley all over her. His smell, the marks that he’d left, the slight ache in her hips as she walked. She knew, then, all at once, that she would have a hard time not to return to him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE CONTINUATION it was way too long to post as one chapter. I think someone would have shot me, or something. honestly.
> 
> enjoy the exciting conclusion, more at 11 (maybe)

Three days had passed since Aziraphale had gone down into town. Three days where she looked out the window and hoped that she might somehow be able to see the docks from the hill, to see if Crowley was still in town. Three days where she had had nothing more to think about than the feeling of Crowley against her, inside her. The ache that it had left her with disappeared after the first day, but the marks had stayed. Aziraphale had looked at them every night, the ones that she could see. She didn’t have a looking glass or any sort, but Crowley had left marks in places that she didn’t need one to find. The others she felt under her fingers, even when they’d started to fade. She’d never been so thankful for the stuffiness of her habit, because it meant no one else could see her marks. They still belonged to her.

The nuns did see her distance, though, and the ghosted look in her eyes. She was wrapped up in her own head at the best of the times, but it was worse now. Worse that all she had to think about was Crowley. Even when she prayed, at night, kneeling by her bed with her rosary in hand, she imagined what it might be like if Crowley was with her. If he would sit on the bed and watch, if he would talk to her. If he would hike up her nightgown and tell her to keep up her prayers while he fucked into her. She always prayed harder, after that thought, and had even once restarted her rosary prayer like it might earn her some favor.

She had betrayed one of her sacred vows for Crowley. Worse, she had enjoyed it. She dreamed about it happening again and thought herself a pretty fool for how little she knew. If Crowley had thought her some silly little thing for how she’d acted—but then she always went back to those few moments where he’d near begged her to return. That was the thought that stuck with her, even after her hips didn’t ache, and her marks had disappeared. It was what had her dressing light on the third night; her desire to do what Crowley had asked. To return to him before it was too late. She’d thought about it for too long to do anything but, even if it made her horrible.

Crowley would have to leave. He was a sailor. This town wasn’t for him, and neither was a settled life. Once he was gone, she could confess her sins and beg to keep her place in the convent. She would do whatever penance, work whatever jobs, give up whatever she needed. She would come clean the moment Crowley was gone from her forever. The second his ship was so far beyond the horizon that she couldn’t see it anymore, she would return to the perfect little nun she’d always been. If she’d ever, truly been perfect. Maybe Crowley had been right. Curiosity was a terrible thing; with it, like this, she would never be what she was meant to be.

Unfortunately, the only answer to curiosity was to sate it. Aziraphale pulled on her boots and sat at the edge of her bed to wait. She knew the timing to sneak out through the garden; once all the nuns had gone to sleep, she would sneak out. She just had to count, and it was harder when she was this excited. She’d gotten ready too early; her count was off. When she stepped out into the halls, wearing a very casual dress with her hair all down around her neck in curls, it was very obvious what her plan was. And when she was steps away from the garden, the Revered Mother didn’t even have to ask.

“Sister Aziraphale,” she said.

Aziraphale froze in her path. She stared at the Revered Mother without a thing to say in her defense, and the Revered Mother just sighed.

“We’ll talk about this when you’re ready,” she said, in always such a loving, motherly voice. She stepped aside, though, and gestured to the garden. “Do be safe, Aziraphale.”

That was that. Aziraphale stepped into the garden and felt as if something shifted.

Although Aziraphale had expected to find nothing, she found everything. Off in the same old seat he always had, Crowley was leaning against the bar with a pint mug in his hand, a half empty plate in front of him. Perhaps even greater was how _alone_ he was. The girl who had been so infatuated with him was off dancing with some other loon; even the bartender was talking to a different patron just off to the left. Crowley was there. Still in town. And alone. He didn’t even look particular entertained, and somehow that made Aziraphale feel warm. Like he really had just been waiting for her, for three days. Like he’d done nothing but sit there and smoke his pipe, hoping that she would come back to him.

She had.

There was a bit of pride in her step when she approached Crowley and tapped on his shoulder. In the next second, she watched him turn. In the next, his jaw dropped when he looked at her. He sputtered, nearly dropped his mug, and fell over himself trying to get out of his chair. But then, he was standing inches away with his hands on her arms like any other sequence of events would have disappeared her from his life forever. He just stared at her, for the longest time, while her smile could not possibly stretch any wider over her cheeks. She was so—_enamored_ with him, the look on his face. His tiny, silly little glasses. Everything.

“Aziraphale,” he said quite like he hadn’t prayed in years. “You came back.”

“I’m sorry I’m late, I wasn’t, well,” she stiffened up and looked to the side, afraid to meet his gaze, “sure that I should come back.”

“But you did,” a breath of awe.

Aziraphale nodded. They were kissing in the next breath, right there in the tavern where no one had a care for their names or their faces. The world carried on around them while Crowley’s eyes carried on around Aziraphale’s waist, keeping her close. She remembered, this time, to breathe through her nose. It kept them closer for longer, until Crowley had to pull back just to look at her face.

“I’m a fool, Aziraphale,” he said, “but I hope that’s alright. Come with me, I’d like to show you something.”

She had half expected Crowley to take her by the hand and lead her back up the stairs, to his room. He didn’t. He did take her hand, gently, but only to have her on his elbow that he might properly escort her from the establishment. As if this was some fine dining eatery that they were leaving, Lord and Lady, and she couldn’t help but laugh once they’d made it out the door. Crowley grinned with her, and then all niceties were gone. He pulled her down the cobblestones, to the docks. He didn’t stop there, though, where her next assumption had been that she might take him to see his ship. No. Crowley did not stop until they were down on the beach where the night air over the sand had turned things cold, and Aziraphale had no choice but to huddle close.

Away from the lights and noises of the town, the sky was something new, lit with stars she’d not ever cared to see. Looking at the sky wasn’t something she did, not usually, but there was nowhere else to look this far away. Where it met the sea off in the horizon, stars painted over like a canvas and led her right back to shore. The water was edging in closer, a gentle threat of what lay beyond in the deep places she’d never known. The sea was not so dark when Crowley gripped into her hand, and she found herself staring back up at the sky after. Crowley’s home was out there, on the water, in a different land. It couldn’t be so scary when she knew that.

“Do you know much about the stars?” he asked when they began to walk.

“Not much, no. I’m rather afraid the Revered Mother has barred me from the library,” Aziraphale laughed.

“Why ever for?”

“Last I got my hand on a new manuscript, I was in my room for two days without so much as food. She said it was quite dangerous for me, and that I would be better suited elsewhere.”

Crowley snorted; he didn’t know much about Aziraphale, but something about her struck true with that. She’d been so enamored when she’d seen the book in his lap, days prior, that it only made sense she had a love of them. Books. Maybe even the people who read them.

“I don’t read much,” he said, “but I do have a collection of odd novels on the ship.”

“I believe you mentioned something like that.” And the conversation died there.

They walked down the shore a bit farther, further from the town, still linked by hand. Crowley swung their arms between them, and Aziraphale rather felt like a child again with a giddiness in her heart she hadn’t known in ages. All they did was walk, for a time, and she had never been happier. Elation only grew when they stopped again, and Crowley pointed up to the sky and asked Aziraphale follow his finger. She did, to a bright, bright star off in the distance.

“Call that one the North star,” he said. “Do you see it?”

Aziraphale nodded, and they sat down in the sand right there. Crowley, ever turning a gentleman for her, draped his captain’s coat over her shoulders to keep her from shivering. Still, coat or not, she leaned into his shoulder. When he didn’t push her away, she settled down and smiled.

“I put that one up there, you know,” Crowley boasted. “It helps me find my way around.”

“Please,” and Aziraphale rolled her eyes. “I may be a nun, but I know a bit about things. Everyone knows the north star.”

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t hang it up.”

“God hung the stars, Crowley,” she said with some authority. “Are you claiming to be God?”

“What if I am?”

“That’s blasphemy! Crowley, you—” she cut off when he looked at her. His eyes were golden, and they still glinted in the dark when he regarded her. It was an unspoken promise that he would get her to admit to this if it was the last thing he did, and she surely believed him.

“I filled the oceans too,” he continued on. “With one reason in mind, you know. Very important, the ocean.”

“You use it to travel, correct? I can understand why it’s important. Is it very scary out there?”

Crowley shook his head, “No on both accounts. I filled the ocean because I’d heard there was a lost angel,” he looked at her, “and I had to come and find her.”

She slapped his shoulder for that, to hide the redness in her face. Certain as she was that he couldn’t _see_ the color of her cheeks, it was for good measure. That was quite possibly the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard, but Crowley was _laughing_. He was laughing and looking at her like he’d meant every word of his blasphemous little line; Aziraphale had a heart to believe him, and she smiled softly.

“You’re quite ridiculous,” she told him.

“And yet you’re still here,” like it was the greatest accomplishment of his life. Aziraphale didn’t _know_ his accomplishments, so she rather thought it might have been.

“I’ll be honest with you, I’m not sure why I’m still here,” Aziraphale said. She pulled away, back to her feet, and wrapped Crowley’s coat tighter around herself. He didn’t move after her, just watched the few steps she took. “Not here with you, I mean. I mean here. In this town.”

“Nuns don’t get out much, you said so yourself.”

“Crowley—” Aziraphale kept her laugh to herself. “Would you listen to me? If I told you something?”

“Anything, angel.”

She pointedly ignored the pleasant little shiver that made her feel. Anything. She could do anything, say anything, and Crowley would still be right there. It was a dangerous thing, she thought; they hardly knew each other, and yet he was ready to promise his life to her. It was dangerous—it was the same mistake she’d been cursed to live with her whole life. And she told him so, that she’d been promised to the church before she’d even been born. Aziraphale was the name of some obscure saint, and she had studied at the convent for school. Taken vows far earlier than most nuns did because she was sure there was nothing else for her, not with her family breathing down her neck. Serving the Lord was what her family did, and she would follow in their footsteps.

Town life had dragged her out of the convent, and she’d been visiting for so long. At first, it was just a vice she begged forgiveness for. An oddity that she allowed herself, the only one. Everything had been fine, until she met Crowley. Damn him for it, too, ruining her so thoroughly. He’d even warned her for it, the dangers of curiosity. Still, she’d fallen right for him. Right into him. Now, she was questioning her whole life. She’d been cloistered for most of it, and that would never change, unless she took a chance. Change was a frightening prospect; if she left, she may never be able to return. And what if Crowley tired of her? What if Crowley decided he didn’t care for her so much, once she was free and nothing to taint. She would have nothing out there. Not a friend, a family, a home to stay at, food to eat. She would not even have a coin to her name.

Crowley was behind her, then, arms wrapped around her and chin on her shoulder. Before her, even in the dark, she could see what he had in his hand. A gold coin. The same one he’d given to her the first night they’d met. The same they had rolled on the table as she fretted about her decisions. The same gold coin, now inches from her nose until he tapped her with it; she looked at him.

“You worry a lot,” he said. “You’ll get wrinkles. Trust me.” He pointed to his own forehead, which did crease up when he raised his eyebrows. When Aziraphale laughed, he smiled again. “Besides, you’ll have a coin. You’ll have all the coins you need.”

He took the coin and wrapped it up in her palm. It was promise enough against her concerns, that he would leave her without a second thought. Even if he did, he wouldn’t leave her unfit to live. He would take care of her, even if she did not share his bed or kiss his face. But oh, she kissed him then, turning his arms and pushing herself against him until he had nothing left to do but fall back in the sand, her thighs around his waist, and kiss. Aziraphale even took initiative with her hands on Crowley’s chest, but he did not them wander. He kept his hands tight around hers until she pulled back, ever breathless, and scowled at him.

“Crowley—”

“The sand,” he laughed, “is a horrible place for this, angel.”

“I suppose you could be right,” she said, slipping off. She sat down with her legs spread out, looking over the water again. Her eyes did wander, though, because she had left some impression. Crowley’s trousers left little to the imagination, and he was doing little to hide his arousal, either. In fact, he was eying her. Looking from her face down to her hips, down to the hand she leaned back against. Something, something, something. Aziraphale didn’t know much about this, but surely—the sand would be alright for something. She felt a bit bold, if not hesitant, and reached across with her other hand to smooth over Crowley’s hips. He jerked slightly but made no move away.

“Crowley,” she said, quietly, “isn’t there something I can do? I’m not very—well, I haven’t—” she cut off when a grin curled over his lips. She was quite sure she was being made fun of.

“I have never,” Crowley started, and Aziraphale realized he was in _awe_, “met a woman so eager to please. And you are a nun, for God’s sake.”

“_Crowley_,” she hissed. “You can’t just take the Lord’s name—”

“In your presence? Why? Do you think He’s watching?”

“Stop, please. I can’t bare this—I take it all back, I—” she cut off and covered her mouth with her hands. Both of them. Crowley shifted and sat up, moving across the sand to sit beside her. He looked at her in a moment of hesitation before he decided it was an alright thing to do and put his arm around her shoulders.

“Apologies, angel,” he whispered into her hair. “I didn’t mean to upset…” he trailed off, because Aziraphale was _laughing_ behind her hands. Laughing so hard that her shoulders were shaking, and tears were welling up in her eyes, and for that, he shoved her down in the sand. “Why, you! Aziraphale, come on—!”

Aziraphale caught herself on her hands and laughed wildly, then, barely able to contain herself. Her whole body jostled and jumped with her laughter, and her eyes creased up in such a little fashion that, Hell help him, Crowley couldn’t look away. He let her laugh until she’d laughed herself out, until she had to clutch her stomach from the pains of it and wipe her eyes from tears. Only then did she fall back into his arms, happy and happier to have his arm around her again.

“You’re a menace,” he muttered. “A bastard, really.”

“I know both of my parents, Crowley.” She giggled once more, and then slipped her arm around Crowley’s back. She curled into him, twisted towards, and had her other hand on his thigh. “Maybe it’s not proper, but didn’t you say you’d teach me?”

Crowley grumbled and groaned sounds more than words, but he didn’t exactly stop Aziraphale from laying him back in the sand. It wasn’t _his_ responsibility to ensure she stayed pure, and she knew it. She counted on it, even, because there was a dark and dirty part of her that wanted this. Even if the Lord was watching, He would surely forgive her. Hopefully, lest she be damned.

Crowley did the work for her, with his trousers. He pulled at the laces and opened them just enough to pull his cock out, and then Aziraphale had nothing left to do but stare. She’d never done anything like this, not even so much _looked _at a man’s prick. She’d seen Crowley’s, briefly, but not like this. Daresay, she didn’t even know what to do; even if she’d been the one who asked for this, she sat there dumbly and looked to Crowley to guide her. As he’d done before, he showed her exactly what to do. He took her hand in his and pulled it closer to him, until he had wrapped her dainty little fingers around himself, and _she_ was the one that gasped. The flesh of him was hot, hard, and almost unyielding beneath her fingers.

“You alright, angel?” he asked.

When Aziraphale didn’t respond, Crowley assumed she was fine. He moved her hand, then, slowly until she got the movement down enough that he could pull away. Her hand was hesitant, but she stroked him, base to tip. There was nothing overly finessed, but she was learning. Crowley pushed into her hand, making a bit of a show of it to egg on her until she grew a bit more daring. She was most interested in the way his foreskin moved, the way that his gasp was not a show if she dipped her finger just inside. When she brushed her thumb over the head, over the slit where he was leaking, his hips bucked, and she pulled back.

“Was that—is this okay?” she asked.

“S’fine, angel, fine. Just—you’re fine. Back, please, it’s good,” he babbled. She stared at him for a long moment before nodding. When Aziraphale had her hand on him again, Crowley groaned low on the back of his throat.

Aziraphale learned quickly how to flick her wrist just right, following the subtle little groans Crowley let out, the twitch of his hips. He was leaking, precome dribbling down the length of him and covering over Aziraphale’s hand. She didn’t—she wasn’t quite _sure_ of herself, but she knew enough to squeeze a little tighter at the base of his cock. To keep her grip loose. When she pressed too hard, Crowley grabbed at her wrist and pursed his lips together, but she learned. Aziraphale was a quick learner, and Crowley was _enjoying_ himself. She could see it on his face. The creases around his eyes.

“Crowley, are you sure…?” she asked, scooting closer to get a better angle. Crowley hummed and rocked into her hand, once more, then curled his fingers over hers.

“I’m sure, just keep going. You’re great, you’re wonderful,” he said, and he meant it. He watched with ever growing interest as she squirmed, pressing her knees together. “You like hearing that, don’t you? How good you are?”

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she insisted, pressing just a little too hard around the head of his cock. Crowley groaned and squeezed her wrist. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“Just, keep going,” he told her. “Please, Aziraphale. You’re doing—fuck, you’re wonderful, just—” he helped her hand along, using her fingers just the way he needed them. She followed every move he made, pumping his cock in a slow, hesitant rhythm. Only consistent because Crowley dragged her hand up and down.

A moment later, Crowley was coming. Not for any particular skill Aziraphale had, but just for the look on her face. She looked so enamored, staring at their hands and the way they worked in tandem. She _wanted_ Crowley to come from it, and he wasn’t about to deny her that. And when he did, she watched his face instead. She even had a barest time to ignore the mess over their hands just to look at him. Just to feel that something shift in the air one more time around her. After the moment past, things shifted, Crowley fixed himself and sat up. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket to clean their hands, and he didn’t let go when he finished.

“Was that…good?” she asked quietly.

“The best,” Crowley whispered. He was inches from her, his breath over her ear. “Aziraphale, I have to leave.”

She jolted away from him faster than she’d ever done anything, just far enough that she could stare at him in horror.

“I can’t stall any longer. We should have left port yesterday, but I hoped if I stayed, you would come back. If I waste any more time—” Crowley sighed, shaking his head. “I told the crew we leave tomorrow morning.”

“What are you saying?” She shouldn’t have asked. This was what she’d been hoping for. That Crowley would leave, her own curiosity sated, and things would be alright again. After he was gone, she could go back to her vows and her innocent and never think of him again. But he’d said it. He’d sat it out loud and made it real—he was leaving. He was leaving in the morning. Leaving the town, leaving her. Leaving her. It wasn’t just an idle dream, a what-if, it was real. Crowley was leaving.

“I’m saying that I have to go. It’s best this way, isn’t it? You can return to the convent—” he stopped short when her nails dug into his arm and tears well up in her eyes. Would it have been anyone else with him, he would have torn their grasp away. Aziraphale could see it in his eyes. But stead, his hand came to cup her cheek, and he pressed a kiss into the opposite one.

“I can’t take you anywhere,” he told her. “You can only come with me.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened.

“And I want you to, angel, I do. I want you to come with me so I can show you the world. You have to make the decision—by tomorrow. We have to get on our way.”

“I don’t,” she shook her head, “I don’t know if I can—”

“Goodnight, angel.”

But it sounded more like goodbye. Even as Crowley walked her back to town, and he said goodnight again at the tavern, it felt like goodbye. She had a decision to make, an impossible one. To leave everything she’d ever known for a man she’d barely met or stay, stay and live the rest of her life out as a peaceful nun. Really, she wasn’t sure what to do. Where to go. How to get there. She knew she had a choice, but it felt more a plague on her walk back to the convent. Too many what-ifs floated about her head, bumped and crashed and made a fool of her all-in turn-abouts and flows. Aziraphale didn’t know what it all meant or how she’d gotten here, just that she had less than a day to make a choice. Crowley would be gone by morning, and if she wasn’t down at the port, he would make her choice for her.

Aziraphale had seen it in his eyes, though. In Crowley’s eyes. He wanted, more than anything, for her to come with him. That was all he’d wanted from the moment he laid eyes upon her in the tavern, was for her to come with him. Whatever it meant, whatever they could make it mean, he’d wanted it then. He’d wanted it on the beach. Surely, if God was merciful, Crowley would want it in the morning, too. Aziraphale need only trust him and his promises, that even should everything fall apart on the foundations they’d laid, he would still take care of her. He wouldn’t leave her to the wolves. What a gentlemanly thing to do, she thought. To take responsibility. And how horrid, all at once, to leave her with this choice.

She came back through the garden, the same path she’d left by, and back into the stone walls. It was never very warm in the convent, but she was safe. She’d always been safe here; the nuns were her friends, and she had taken that for granted. They would support her, should she call, and they would pray for her in this hour of need. Should the Revered Mother choose to expel Aziraphale for her sins, the nuns would surely rally for her. In the end, it was all just idle thought and funny fantasy. Aziraphale stopped in the hallway, the Revered Mother in her path with hands folded at her front.

“Did you find what you were searching for?” she asked.

“I’ve sinned, Mother,” Aziraphale replied.

The Revered Mother smiled, then, and stepped forward to put a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I think you’ve found it,” she said. “You need only understand what it is you’ve found.” With that, the Revered Mother stepped around her and went off to her own chambers, surely with the knowledge of what Aziraphale had done with her. It was not forgiveness, but it was an out. Aziraphale could see that much.

Aziraphale went back to her room, changed into her night gown, and went straight to bed. For the first time, she did not pray. She did not kneel to the side with rosary in hand. And she did not ask for guidance. She laid down, head in a downy pillow, and dreamed of the way Crowley had looked at her. The touch of his hand, the feel of his breath; she dreamed of Crowley and what it would mean to leave with him. To leave him. Everything and anything in between.

Come morning, before the sun had even risen, Crowley was out on the docks with the rest of his crew packing. They had a shipment to finish, and like most ships, they had stopped in town to resupply. They had been in town longer than planned, and while no one on the crew was entirely happy with Crowley’s decision, they were quite enthralled to finally be on their way. Even if, still, Crowley had stalled. He’d wanted to eat breakfast at the tavern, then he’d insisted upon a full ship check before they went off. Not a soul had been glad to hear that, but they did as they were bid, regardless. There were crates to check, ropes to inspect, the sails. Eve’s Bite would be in tip-top shape before Crowley let them leave the harbor, let alone the dock.

The crew did whisper, though, about what had caught the captain’s eye. Eyes, really, but they all knew he fancied a town girl. None of them knew the truth of her, and they all had a different face to pin. One had even described the tavern girl that Crowley had on his arm for the first few days, and she had been opposite to Aziraphale in every way. The girl who had the captain’s eyes was not so much a dark-haired girl, but a woman with hair so blonde it was a stark and gorgeous white, hung in long girls around her face. Crowley stood on the wood of the docks, looking back towards the town and hoping.

The sun eventually rose, and the ship inspection was nearly complete. Hastur, first mate only because Crowley’s father was _fond _of him, had been the one to deliver the update. They would be ready to leave within the hour, with Crowley’s approval. Eve’s Bite was just how they’d left her: in perfect condition. She always was, because Crowley was her captain. He liked her perfect, as he preferred most things. His excuses were less than, now. There was truly nothing keeping him in the docks a moment longer but a fool’s hope. With nothing left to say, Crowley tugged his jacket on and replaced his hat.

“Get ready to set sail, then,” he called out, turning swift on his heel. He looked out over the sea and hoped for rough waters, but the sun was high, the sky blue. Perfect conditions, so much so that they might even make better time than planned. Truly, nothing keeping him here a second longer but this ache in his throat.

He’d really told her that he’d filled the oceans. He’d looked her right in the eye and told her he’d hung the stars. Aziraphale must think him a fool, but there was little time to do anything about that. He’d fallen to base instinct and wasted their last moments together with her hand around his cock instead of talking. A touch he would remember until the day he died, but regret filled him all the same. He could have spoken with her, learned about her. Asked the name of her first pet or sought to know what dress size she wore. Anything at all would have been preferable. Anything than what he’d let happen.

“Captain,” someone called.

He waved them off and sighed. Just a few more seconds he would wait. Just three. Then two. Then he was walking up the ramp to pause on the third little jutted step. Something had stopped him there, like a winded whisper. A shout, more like, one that he thought he’d imagined. His own name. Crowley. Crowley pulled his hands from his pocket and turned towards the air, thinking himself a fool and a madman for hoping in one more heartbeat, as he did. This time was different. This time he _saw_.

“Angel,” he breathed. He would recognize that halo of hair anywhere.

If Hastur called for him again, he didn’t hear it. Crowley stepped down off the ramp, back to the docks, and couldn’t help himself. When he’d seen her running down the cobblestones, he had to run to meet her. Just before she hit the docks, and she wouldn’t, because Crowley grabbed her just before she reached the bottom step and he twirled her in his arms, grinning into her neck all the way. Somewhere, the bag that she had clunked to the wood beneath them, but neither of them heard it. Aziraphale’s feet still hadn’t hit the wood after, even when Crowley stopped to stand. He had his arms tight around her middle, keeping her up in his arms with hers around his neck—she smelled like sandalwood, he realized. She smelled like sandalwood and old flame.

The whole world had stopped around them and did not continue to spin even as Crowley had to set her down. He had his hands around her face in the next second, holding her just to touch—just to see that she was real. She was here. She’d run the whole way from the convent; it left her face red, her breath heavy. But she was smiling. Her eyes were wide and creased, smiling just as wide as her lips, and it was all Crowley could do to keep from kissing her right there.

“Aziraphale,” he breathed, “you’re here. What—why are you—?”

“I realized something,” she said, and she looked down between them. Crowley realized it too, though he hadn’t until she mentioned it. He would have been rather presumptuous to say he knew all of the dresses she owned, but this one certainly was finer than the ones he’d seen. “I won’t have even a coin if I don’t go with you.”

She’d bought a new dress, because she couldn’t help herself. It’s all that had kept her from being down here at dawn, but it was what she needed to _truly _free herself from this life. The dress was beautiful, too, with a long-flared skirt and a boxed neckline. The sleeves went down to her elbows before they flared out, and Crowley couldn’t wait to tear the thing of her. He would wait, though, just to look at her. Aziraphale had blue eyes, which seemed a simple thing, but it was a thing he hadn’t noticed before. He hadn’t taken the time to _look_, but now—now he could see them up close and watch the very subtle way her eyelids fluttered as she blinked.

“Captain!” Hastur had limped down the ramp to shout again. “We have to go!”

Crowley looked between them, between Hastur’s growing anger at their schedule and the bright sunlight in Aziraphale’s eyes. Just in the way that the rays would jump off the ocean, Aziraphale was smiling at him with her eyes.

“You’re coming, then?” he asked, taking her hands.

“If you like.”

Crowley could feel the squeeze in his heart. In one hand, he had picked up Aziraphale’s bag, and in the other, he had her hand tightly grasped with fingers intertwined. There was no pulling or tugging along, this time; they just walked. Side by side, their hands swinging together ever slightly as they had on the beach the prior night. And Crowley couldn’t hide his smile, even when they approached the ship, and Hastur had the nerve to look a bit disgusted at what was taking place before him. Hastur was the one looking strange, but he gave a half bow and gestured up the ramp.

“Your chariot awaits, madam,” he grinned.

Crowley rolled his eyes and led Aziraphale up the ramp, and she followed on unsteady legs. It would take some getting used to, and she was already sure she would get sick at least once. The sea was new, the ship was new—these people were new, but each one greeted her as Crowley led her through the deck. She weaved around the crates after him, through the ropes, and Crowley had to catch her once from falling. But then, they were at the door, rather ornate in its look. Aziraphale could hear the crew members whispering, but she didn’t have a mind to care. Not when Crowley opened the door and led her through, and everything felt familiar all at once. The close of the door, the click of the lock.

As it would appear, the captain had something important to attend to. In his own chambers, where Aziraphale had learned that extravagance was surely Crowley’s particular vice. There was a true bed in the corner, with dark sheets and pillows. The room was built up so that, even if the ship rocked, things would not fall out of place. There were half walls and things bolted in place, but the whole thing felt comfortable. Pleasant. Pleasing, even, and Aziraphale set her bag atop of the rather fanciful desk in the middle of the room. Crowley was behind her then, fully pressed against her with his arms around her, his chin on her neck. This seemed, quite all at once, like his favorite place to be. His hands had even smoothed down over her middle when he kissed her cheek, and Aziraphale smiled.

“You’ll give me a full tour, won’t you, Captain?” she asked.

“Eventually,” he said. “I’ll start with right here—my cabin. Do you like it?”

Aziraphale hummed in agreement. She did quite like it. She quite liked the big glass window at the back that seemed to reach all the way to the floor, and surely there were handles to lead out to the back of the deck.

“I have to see to the crew,” he told her. “But once we’re settled on course, I’ll be back.”

“How long will that be?” she turned in his arms when he asked, resting around his hips, and not quite bold enough to meet his gaze.

“As long as it takes, but I’ll be back. I can trust the ship to Hastur after this. Just make yourself at home.”

He left after, and Aziraphale folded her arms around herself and looked about the room. It was quite a room, finer than anything she’d seen in her life. At the convent, her room had been no bigger than a closet. Just wide enough for a bed, a basin, and a place to hang her clothes. There was, of course, enough room to kneel, but there hadn’t been much else. Then, of course, the single window. Crowley’s quarters had windows all around the back where the light shined in and bounced off the golden things he had. For all the golden things and things she’d never seen, Aziraphale still was drawn off to the corner instead, where Crowley’s best was nestled in the corner. Not only had she never seen a bed so large, but one so _full_ of things. Crowley had blankets and pillows, then blankets some more stacked at the edge. It felt like decadence.

Aziraphale smoothed out her skirt when she sat on the bed. It felt forbidden to sit somewhere so private, so personal, but Crowley had invited her in. Quite literally, Crowley had asked her to make herself at home, here, in his own space. As she scooted back to lean against the wall, she looked over the bed. Smoothed her fingers through the silken fabrics and tried not to imagine what life Crowley would have in store for her. Everything on his ship looked custom and expensive, like Crowley truly was as rich as she’d dreamed. But more than that, she thought about what Crowley had done in this bed. Nothing in the room looked touched or out of place, as if Crowley was the only one who’d ever been here.

With that in mind, there was no way that she could help herself away from _thinking_ about what it meant. She remembered the nights in the convent, afraid that Crowley would share his bed with others. His experience surely said that he had, but maybe not that he would. Not after this. That he had invited her into a place so sacred that he’d never had another there for anything but business. She was surely not business; naive she may be, but she knew. She knew that Crowley wouldn’t have her here if she didn’t mean something. For the first time, she truly felt as though being presumptuous was not a bad thing.

She felt the ship lurch a moment later and nearly fell with it, but she steadied herself. After a long, long moment of holding herself against the wall, she could feel the ship just began to glide, and she relaxed after. Crowley would come back soon; something told her that she should greet him and certainly not make it so obvious that she had been in his bed. Something else was stronger and had her undoing the laces in her boots, slipping them off her feet and setting them to the side of the bed. When she rested back in the bed, she made a pointed excuse to hike her skirt up just a bit, just so her calves were visible. They would be the first thing Crowley saw when he returned, and they were.

When Crowley returned, closed and locked the door, he stared. He stared at the tips of her toes and dragged his eyes in a slow, pointed manner up to where her legs disappeared under her dress, and he realized just where she was sitting. In the time it had taken for him to return, she’d plucked one of his books off the shelf to the side of the bed and laid it out in her lap; it suited her, reading. She was smiling at a passage in particular and hadn’t even noticed him enter, but she noticed when he crossed the room. The floorboards squeaked just enough that she could hear better than the soft sounds of the door. Their eyes met, and her smile widened.

“On our way, then?”

Crowley nodded. He hung his hat, removed his coat, and stepped out of his boots in the trail until he was standing right against the bed. “You’re in my bed, angel,” he said.

“Oh, is that where I am?” she looked around, closed the book, and quite looked as if she hadn’t realized. She surely did, and was bad at hiding it, for when she moved her skirt fell up just a bit more. Crowley shifted the collar of his shirt.

“Never,” he said, “in all my life, did I think I would find a _nun_ so obscene.” Crowley crawled onto the bed, plucking the book out of her hands and setting it aside.

“Excuse you, Captain,” she said, “I hardly think being comfortable while I read is obscene. And—” this was the important part, “—I’m not a nun.”

Crowley gave her a look that quite read he was about to apologize, but she smiled at him and brought him closer by grip on his arms, until they were staring right at one another, and he had to prop himself up on his hands.

“It’s better this way,” she told him, hands on his cheeks and brushing his hair from his face. Long, red, tempting.

“I feel I’ve done something rather evil,” as if there was any guilt to be had, with the way he pressed forward to tongue at her neck.

“Nothing I didn’t let you do.”

Crowley _groaned_ into her skin and lurched forward, hiking her dress up further as he went just to get his hands on her. Aziraphale felt good to admit it, and Crowley felt _better_ to hear it. Even now, when Aziraphale laid flat on the bed, it was because she wanted to. Not because Crowley had grabbed her or pushed her. He’d quite not had a hand on her at all when she did, because he’d pulled back just to look. Crowley thought himself a rather smart man at the best of times, but he knew he’d been right when he’d called her an angel. Looking at her, then, with her hair spread out in curls and ringlets all around her head, her hands laid out by her ears. Angel was the only thing she was fit to be called, and he leaned down to kiss her fully.

She kissed back with everything she could manage, with tiny moans and gasps into Crowley’s lips as he coaxed hers apart. It was horrid, the things he would teach her without a single word between them: with his tongue in her mouth. The roof of it was so sensitive that she couldn’t help but sing for him at every flick, every press. Warmth had spread through her again, and there was a wetness gathering between her thighs. Blasted was Crowley’s care, then, because his hands weren’t even on her. They were in her hair, moving her head as they kissed, but nothing more. She wanted more. Anything that she could get.

“Crowley,” she gasped out, pushing him back. He leaned back in and tried to kiss along her jaw, but— “_Anthony_,” she said, harsher this time. He pulled back.

“Aziraphale,” he said in a fondness that said he’d been pleased to hear his own name off her lips.

“I was hoping you might show me something.”

“Anything at all,” he promised. “You need only ask.”

“I’m _trying_ to, but—Anthony, I’ve never done anything like this, and I’m—” she stopped short, hiccupping in her nervousness and whining when Crowley pressed their foreheads together, cupped her cheeks.

“You’re nervous, dove. It’s alright to be nervous. Sweet little thing like yourself, you _should_ be nervous,” he told her. It sounded less a threat than it did like a fond little comment. “Most virgins don’t fall into sailors’ beds, you know. We have a reputation.”

Aziraphale let out a breathy little noise in her throat, squeezing her eyes tightly closed. “I don’t know anything about that,” she said, lying. Crowley had been the opposite of her expectations, but there was always time to regret and think she could have made another choice. Crowley shushed her, then, and shook his head, running his thumb underneath her eye like she might tear up at any moment.

“Never,” he whispered. “I’ll never do a thing you don’t want. What _do_ you want?”

“_You_,” she said, breathless. “I want you. I want to know what it’s _like_, Anthony. Please.”

He kissed her again before he pulled back. “Tell me to stop if you need. If you _really_ need me to stop, just—I don’t know. Tell me. Tell me you’ll say something.”

Aziraphale nodded hurriedly.

Crowley undressed her with all the patience he could muster. He pulled at her laces and barely managed to restrain himself when he got the dress of her shoulders. Everything about her was plump and soft, beautiful and new. He refrained, though. He had to. He didn’t want to scare her away—he wanted her there, in his bed, for as long as he could have her. He wanted her on the ship with him, on his arm, in beautiful custom sailing clothes with his hat on her head. He wanted and wanted and wanted and could barely contain the shake in his hands to remove her dress completely. Her undergarments—everything, until she was lying bear with her head in the pillows. Then, with shaking fingers, he took her by the wrist to put her hands on his hips.

“Undress me,” Crowley whispered. He watched the bob in Aziraphale’s throat as she swallowed, gulped, but nodded.

She was so slow, so unsure, but she untucked his shirt before anything. There was little grace to how she undid the laces at the collar, loosened the cuffs around his wrists, but the shirt was off, and that’s all Crowley had asked. With hesitant fingers, she reached between them to grab Crowley’s belt. He shifted farther up, to let her have a better hand on it, and kept his eyes sorely locked on hers as she undid the buckle. Once she had it open, and opened Crowley’s trousers, he leaned down to press a kiss into her forehead.

“That’s alright. Let me get these off.” Crowley rolled off the bed to finish the rest of the work. His trousers were tight enough at the best of times and feeling her fingers brush against the skin of his stomach had been nearly enough to finish him right there. He was turning a fast fool for her, and this was his moment to reel himself back down. Just as he stepped out of his trousers and smalls, before he turned, he heard Aziraphale from the bed.

“Is the door locked?” she asked.

“I locked it when I came back,” he told her, but the look on her face said she didn’t particularly_ believe_ him, so he stalked over to the door just to prove that it was locked. He unlocked it. Locked it. Jiggled the handles and pulled on the doors. Then, when he came back to the bed, Aziraphale had hidden her face behind her hands. Her knees were bent up, pressed together to hide the rest of her, and Crowley gave a fond smile.

“I’m sorry,” her voice muffled, “I should have believed you, I—”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley’s voice was kind and it stopped her short. He crawled back onto the bed beside her, keeping his hands to places quite safe like her wrists and her hands. “Will you look at me?”

And she did. She peeked between her fingers and didn’t resist when Crowley pulled her hands away entirely. She covered herself, then, instead, with her arms folded over her chest and her eyes anywhere but Crowley’s. Still, he smiled. He kissed along her cheek, her jaw, down to her neck until she shivered against him. He kept kissing her until she relaxed, until she let him unfold her arms and press them back into the mattress. And then, before he went further, he whispered one heady reminder into her ear that if she needed him to stop, she only had to say something.

She didn’t say a thing, not when Crowley straddled her waist and started to feel along her arms. She let out a gasp when he touched her, when he cupped her breasts and rolled them together. Oh—he had plans, but it would be a slow work. He could tell from the look on her face, but when she was ready, he would bury his cock between her tits and make a mess of her. Until then, he was subtle and kind. He brushed his thumbs over her nipples and reveled in the way her body seemed to tremble, the gasp she let out as Crowley kissed lower, over her collarbone. His lips pressed in the space between her breasts, and she jolted. She said nothing.

Crowley worked his mouth over one, down to where he had her nipple caught between his fingers, and he licked at it. He laved his tongue over her and molded her skin in his hand. Aziraphale’s back arched into him; she was so sensitive. So beautifully new and untouched that when Crowley took her nipple into his mouth, between his teeth, she gasped and shuddered beneath him. All the while, he toyed with her other nipple while he groped her, rolled it under his palm until it was stiff with her arousal. Then he switched; with one hand he rubbed his saliva into her skin, with the other, he pushed Aziraphale’s tit into his own mouth to suck at the sides, to nibble and leave little marks in his wake.

“Anthony—”

“Good, is it?” he asked but hadn’t stopped. Even as he nudged at her neck again with his lips, he touched. Her nipples were a pretty pink and wet under his fingers, and he could already see marks blooming around her.

“_Yes,__” _she gasped, and it quite felt like a new prayer. He pinched one of her nipples to hear her shout, the grinned into her jaw and kissed her dizzy.

He kept at her, just like that, until he felt her knees drop down to the bed. By that time, he pulled back to look over her, to see what he’d done. With nipples in tight little peaks, saliva dripping down, Crowley knew he’d done quite a job on her already. It wasn’t entirely difficult, but he felt proud, nonetheless. He dipped a finger between her breasts and followed the line of her sternum, down to her ribs and over her stomach to where he was sitting, and she could see his cock there.

Crowley grinned at her in such a fiendish little way that she flushed, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. Not when he pressed his cock down into the skin of her stomach and rutted against her, slowly. She could feel how wet she was already, and she was shamed if only because she’d been taught to be. But this was something altogether new, this feeling of want. Even if she’d wanted Crowley before, _this_ was like a temptation straight from the Devil. Crowley moved his hips so slowly, circling them around her. He dug his cockhead into the fat of her stomach and groaned; it felt like a preview. Aziraphale could already see him, there, in a dream between her thighs and rolling his hips just like that. Inside of her.

_Inside_ of her, oh. She wanted that. She was terrified of her own want, but that didn’t stop it from growing, from manifesting the way it did in a hot slick in the folds of her cunt. Crowley hadn’t even—he was being so _kind _to her, where he was. Still above her waist, even if he was obscene in the way he moved against her. Precome was dripping from his slit, and it left Aziraphale’s middle wet and sticky, but she didn’t mind. She rather thought that she was ready for something more.

“Crowley, I think I’m—I think I’m ready,” she muttered. Her voice caught Crowley’s attention, and he leaned back over her to kiss.

“Call me Anthony again,” he replied, inches from her lips.

She breathed his name, and he slithered off of her. Down between her thighs, he spread her legs out around him and settled. Aziraphale’s entire face went red; from his spot, Crowley could see all of her. He could see the way her breath heaved in her chest, the way her breasts moved from the strain of it. Crowley marveled over her stomach again and the mess that he’d left. But he was so much more _interested _in what was below. Aziraphale’s cunt was fat and dripping, her lips thick and untouched. If it was anyone else; if this was some common wench or a lady he didn’t know, he might have buried himself inside her immediately and took his pleasure without a mind for her. This was Aziraphale, though. This was something to take his time with.

“Can I touch you?” he asked then, his voice a whisper but stark in the quiet around them.

“I—I don’t,” Aziraphale started, then stopped, and realized all at once it sounded like she was seconds from putting an end to this. Crowley kept his hands on her hips and looked at her, like he was pleading, and in one subtle shift she could feel the hardness of his prick against her thigh. She didn’t want this to stop. More than anything, Aziraphale wanted _more_.

“I’m nervous,” she decided admitting it would be better than the chance Crowley would leave her. And her truth made him smile over her, his thumb working soothing little circles into the skin of her pelvis, just near where blonde little curls started.

“I’ll take care of you.” There was that promise again. It made Aziraphale warm. “You can tell me to stop at any time.”

“But—”

“No,” Crowley hushed her. “If you need to stop, we stop. It’s that simple.”

Something swelled in her chest, and she nodded. That was quite the idea, there, that it didn’t matter how close Crowley was to finishing or if he’d finished at all. If Aziraphale needed them to stop, he would stop and think only of her. She didn’t need to stop, not yet. So, she urged him further with a bold little wiggle and begged that he touch her. Without a second to wait, Crowley obliged.

His fingers were hot against her, impossibly so. He slipped two of them down just to feel, just to dip between her labia and see what a mess Aziraphale had already made. And oh, how she gasped and trembled when Crowley rubbed her like that, fully. And when he peaked at the top, Aziraphale felt a fire spread through her. Crowley’s thumb worked over her clit, and she’d never—she’d _never_ felt something like that. It put the rest to shame, and she was gasping, gripping her nails in the bed sheets and letting her head roll back.

“Nice, right?” Crowley hummed. Aziraphale couldn’t even respond, not when he rolled the little nub and pressed it. It was so sensitive, and Aziraphale had never felt so warm. So tight. Crowley barely had to do a thing and her hips were shaking in a sensation she remembered—he’d called it an _orgasm_; oh, it felt so good.

Aziraphale’s hips bucked, rolled and shook without her consent, trying to find more of Crowley. With one hand, Crowley pulled her open. He massaged the pad of his thumb over her labia with the fingers of his other hand worked in the slit, feeling along her skin and smoothing it, wetting all of it. Her hole seemed to quiver for him, to shake when he passed it; the wetness of her was impressive already. He could just slide right in and take her, if he wanted, and he did so want. Instead, he pressed a finger into her and waited while she shook and clenched around him. Inside, she was even wetter; already so open and loose. Aziraphale was practically begging to be fucked, even if the only thing she could get out of her mouth was moans and _Anthony._

When he had two fingers in her, he worked them in and out. Slowly, but he fucked her on them. Just another _taste_ of what she could have, when she was ready. When Crowley deemed her read, and she trusted that he wouldn’t go too soon or make her wait too long. Already, she was clenching around his fingers and trying to meet them in uncoordinated movements. Crowley couldn’t _wait_ to see the way she moved with experience under her belt. He couldn’t wait to see what she looked like on top of him, riding his cock with abandon and pleasing herself with him. He wanted to taste her, too, to have his tongue between her folds and licking at the sopping _mess_ she made. Crowley wanted to watch her finger herself, wanted to watch her break every rule in the book she’d been raised on. Watching her finish on her own fingers—Crowley could come from that thought alone. He pushed it from his mind and slipped a third finger into her.

“Anthony!” Aziraphale cried. “Oh—Anthony, please. It’s—it’s too much I—”

“Do you need to stop?” he asked, with no intentions of doing so until she said to. His fingers rubbed into her, stretching her walls and spreading that slick fluid inside her, around her. He rubbed down through her slit again to where her mess was gathering and dripping onto the bed.

“No—no! Don’t you dare stop, Anthony, I’ll kick you,” she complained.

Crowley chuckled, “demanding little thing,” and pulled his fingers away completely. He used the excess slick to coat his own cock, and to have his hand on himself sent a shiver through his spine. He gasped, groaned, and used all the strength he had to not finish himself right there. He had an angel to please, after all, and she would be so _easy_ on it.

When Crowley pushed his cockhead into her folds, Aziraphale gasped. Her whole body jumped at the blunt, thickness of it, and he braced her with his hand on her hip. He took it slow, first, just rubbing her with his prick. He paid special attention to her clit, where he could rub himself with it too, as it brushed over his slit, and they both groaned. He was going to come if he wasn’t careful, and he needed to be careful. Eventually, he thought, they’d find the proper stuff to use until she might take him aside in the privacy of a nice big home, lavished with books and gold, and whisper into his ear that she would carry his child. Until then, though—careful.

Crowley groaned when he pressed into her. He braced _himself_ on her hips, then, trying to keep controlled as he sunk deeper, slowly. Every inch she took was another inch of her warmth cunt that surrounded him, pulled him in farther. She felt so good—her skin was so smooth, and. Hell. The thought that he was the _first_ man to have her this way was more than it should have any right to be. It didn’t matter—it didn’t mean anything, but Crowley surely felt like he’d taken where Aziraphale surely felt claimed.

Aziraphale’s head was back in the pillows, her hand draped over her open mouth as she moaned. Crowley appreciated just how loud she was, and every hitch of his hips seemed to drag another cry out from her. Everything about it set her aflame; she felt so stretched and full, so positively wonderful when Crowley’s hips finally pressed flush against her, and he stopped. There was no more for her to take, and she felt proud of it. Crowley was inside her; she could feel the twitch of his cock, the quiver in his hips as he struggled to still himself. Even with tears welling at the corner of her eyes, she was smiling wide.

“Anthony,” she beckoned, and Crowley fell forward into her arms to kiss her.

She reached down, then, with him so close. Her hands gripped into his hips and _she_ rolled against him. Egging him on, telling him it was okay to move; she wanted him to. She wanted him to take her, to make her his, if he pleased. She grinned into their kiss when he did please, almost laughing into his mouth when he groaned. Crowley couldn’t help but to think how perfect it was, how they fit together so well when their hips met with every thrust. How her breath was hot and beautiful, her moans such a delight to listen to. With every heave, he could feel the swell of her tits against his chest, and he groped for them again. Only, he found Aziraphale’s hand instead, over her left breast, where she had her nipple between her fingers and was gasping into him now with every squeeze, every thrust that he gave her.

“You’re wicked,” he told her. “You’re absolutely marvelous, a horrid little thing,” like he couldn’t quite decide which was better. Aziraphale didn’t care. The words sent sparks through her, and she begged for more.

Crowley gave it to her, and she touched her own tits through it, while Crowley pulled back and gripped into the fat her hips to keep her where he wanted her. He took her, quite like she’d _dreamed_, with fast thrusts where the drag of his cock had her clenching around like she could feel every inch, every crook and concave of it inside of her. She would have this cock every day, if Crowley would allow; she could see it now, and all she would require was the boldness to ask.

“Anthony!” she cried out; oh, he’d hit something so _lovely_ inside of her, and he hit it again at her cry. Her back arched up when she thought more, their eyes locked together, of Crowley sitting at his desk. She would sit in his lap with him, look over his books and his ledgers with his cock inside of her, and they would rock together. Or he would snap and push her down over his work instead and yank her hips back to meet him with every thrust. Maybe he would even think to take her from the arse again, and she shivered at the thought.

“I’m close, angel, I’m close,” he told her, leaning back over her to brace himself on his elbows. Aziraphale held around his neck, nodding, kissing him when he came within reach. She was close too, she knew—he must have known too. He wedged a hand down between them and hooked his fingers under the hood of her cunt, pressing into her clit again. He quite literally dragged her orgasm out of her, and she shouted with it, back arching and tits bouncing. Crowley _groaned_, but he pulled out entirely to come on her stomach instead.

Crowley held himself on his arms long enough to finish before collapsing half over her. His chin rested on her shoulder, and he had his face in the pillows, because Christ—that was the best feeling in the world. He’d never had better, and he knew so when he felt Aziraphale’s lips on his skin, at the junction of neck and shoulder. After a moment of that, he found the strength to roll off her completely and land on his side beside her, propped up on his elbow where he could still look at her.

“Wonderful,” he whispered into her skin, then kissed her where he noticed freckles dusted over her shoulder.

“Thank you,” she started, then pressed her lips tight when Crowley gave her a look.

“You don’t usually thank your partner—” and Crowley stopped, then, with Aziraphale’s fingers inches from his face. She’d dragged them through the come on her stomach and grinned.

“I may have been a nun,” she grinned, “but I know a few things.”

“It’s not fail-safe,” he warned, but that didn’t take off her smile. He stole it right from her when he took her fingers into his mouth and licked them clean.

“Crowley—! That’s—”

“Give me a month and you’ll be doing it too.”

She rather should have slapped him for that, but instead she let him intertwine their fingers and hold them against his chest. Crowley looked rather a mess with his hair pasted to his forehead, the sweat sheen that covered him. But Aziraphale thought that she loved him anyway, and accepted his kiss when he ducked his head in.

“Besides,” he said against her, “I know someone back home. I can have her get us the things we need to make it safe.”

Aziraphale had a fond little look that rushed over her, smiling at Crowley’s care. In the same beat, her free hand was over her stomach just so that she knew Crowley could see it. It was a dangerous thought, and he knew it. They hardly knew each other, and he certainly wasn’t in the habit of leaving women with babies. He couldn’t help the thought, though, of it what it would be like to see her swollen like that. He shook his head and looked at her, again, with a frown on his face.

“You were a nun not twelve hours ago,” he scolded.

“Yes, but now I think I’m rather yours.”

“Oh—angel, you are a _menace_,” he said, and kissed her fully that he might steal the words right off of her lips. They had _time_ for that. To make a decision like that together. Crowley may have to physically restrain himself from asking her hand the moment they made sure, but regardless of his own impulsively, they had time. They had more time than Crowley had ever known what to do with, and with it, he followed Aziraphale’s hand back down between her thighs where she pressed his fingers back against her cunt and shivered. Insatiable, he thought, but he obliged.

**Author's Note:**

>   
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